


The Tension and the Terror

by battalions (Mina)



Series: Jesse & John [1]
Category: Brand New, Taking Back Sunday
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mina/pseuds/battalions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>So it comes down to me and you and</em>
  <br/>
  <em>whether we’re supposed to or not we still will.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>We’re so much better off than them.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Covers Jesse Lacey and John Nolan’s relationship from their first meeting to their junior year of high school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Past tense, third-person limited; Jesse-centric.
> 
> [Originally posted](http://stories.mibba.com/read/400556/The-Tension-and-the-Terror/) on [Mibba](http://mibba.com) on July 27, 2011.

  


If you’re starting from the beginning, the absolute very beginning, you’d have to go back to when Jesse and John met: nine-years-old, fourth grade. Ms. Hendrickson’s class. They sat next to each other because of their last names: Jesse’s started with an “L” and John’s with an “N”. No one in the class had a last name that started with an “M”, and for that Jesse would always be glad, no matter what happened and what changed and how he felt about John. Within a week they were best friends.  
  
Jesse remembered deciding John was the cutest boy in class, and that this was a good thing: an asset that made John a more valuable friend. The logic behind this decision was vague as only a child’s reasoning could be; but, after all, everyone likes cute people and if you’re friends with someone cute they like you too. So it made sense, pretty much.


	2. Chapter 2

And then there were the years Jesse really discovered the wonders of masturbation: ten-, eleven-, twelve-years-old. He could only do it in the bathroom because he shared a bedroom and it was just too shameful to do that with his poor brother asleep five feet away.  
  
At first he didn’t really know what he was supposed to think about while he was jerking off; girls, yes, but which ones? And which parts? He let himself figure it out; let his mind wander from his former babysitter’s breasts to his sister’s friend’s legs to Christina Applegate to the sounds people made in movies that let you know they were having sex even when you couldn’t see them.  
  
He wasn’t sure when John first crossed his mind while jacking off. Whenever the first time was, it was brief. Fleeting. He didn’t dwell on it when it happened – it wasn’t a big deal; all kinds of things flashed through his head when he was doing that, things that weren’t sexual in the least: cars and trees and the feeling of standing up to your waist in the ocean. And everyone remembered the lecture the school nurse had given to just the boys in fifth grade, about how you could have wet dreams about anything, even baseball, so it wasn’t a big deal, really.  
  
John’s intrusions on his fantasies were gradual. There was no threshold Jesse could identify; no moment when the amount of time spent thinking about John became unacceptable. All he knew was that when he was thirteen he decided he was going to stop all together, but that was mostly because he thought his mom was getting suspicious; not because of anything to do with John.  
  
Except then Carly got a scholarship to a boarding school in Massachusetts for gifted kids, and since she was going to be out of the house for nine months of the year Jesse’s parents decided they would change the bedroom arrangements, and for the first time for as long as Jesse could remember, he had his very own room – with a door that locked, no less.  
  
But jacking off in bed before he went to sleep was different from jacking off in the bathroom in the daytime; it was harder to keep track of his thoughts, and touching himself wasn’t always even a conscious decision; it all ran together: thinking about his day, about what would happen tomorrow, about the girl he had a crush on, and then his hand would be down his shorts and his breathing would be heavy. And if sometimes his hand reached down there while he was still thinking about sitting next to John in class or watching TV at the Nolans’, well, he didn’t really notice.


	3. Chapter 3

They went to a party when they were thirteen, one of those parties in a cool kid’s basement where the parents don’t check up on them, and there was a game of spin-the-bottle. Melissa DiLeo spun and got Jesse and they shared a chaste peck to the “ _Ooo_ ”s of the circle; Jesse barely had time to feel anything. And then it was Jesse’s turn to spin so he did, a mixture of excitement and dread in his stomach as he watched the bottle go. He thought he might throw up as it slowed, which was stupid because he knew all the girls there and they were nice and everyone knew it was just a game. For a second he thought it was going to land on him again, like maybe he’d have to kiss himself, and then he thought it was going to stop on the girl to his left, but it didn’t; when the bottle stopped it was pointing directly at John.  
  
Jesse felt a bubble of nervous giddiness rise from his stomach and it burst in his mouth in the form of a laugh that was too high-pitched to be completely okay. He looked over at John, who looked back at him with the same expression of amusement laced with anxiety. Everyone was laughing, and Jesse was frozen, but then someone said, “It’s okay, Jess, we’ll let you go again – unless you _want_ to kiss John,” which elicited more laughter from the group, and Jesse’s muscles were stiff but he leaned in and spun the bottle again, muttering, “I don’t think so.”


	4. Chapter 4

When they were fifteen John asked out Amanda Plumber, and Jesse was sick with jealousy.  
  
First of John, because he kind of liked Amanda, and had told John as much, and John was a jerk for asking her out when he knew Jesse kind of liked her. He felt most envious when the two of them touched: when they held hands and played footsie and snuck kisses when teachers weren’t looking. But he was jealous of Amanda too, because John was his best friend but suddenly he wasn’t around as much; he was off with _Amanda_ and that just wasn’t fair. You weren’t supposed to ditch your friends just because you got a girlfriend.  
  
And it was only very late at night when half asleep that Jesse could acknowledge to himself that he wasn’t just jealous that John got to touch Amanda; he was jealous that Amanda got to touch John.


	5. Chapter 5

The summer they were sixteen was one of those perfect magic summers, even though it didn’t always feel like it at the time. Late in August Jesse and John managed to go to a real high school party, almost like the type you see in movies but not quite. They spent that day at the beach, and then went to John’s house for dinner. Jesse’s parents thought he was staying there the whole time for a sleepover, and John’s parents thought they were going to another friend’s house and then to a late movie. They trusted John and his best friend; just told the boys to be quiet when they came in and to lock the door behind them.  
  
They emerged from the party around one in the morning, both drunk for the first time. They were talking too loudly and laughing because how were they ever going to be quiet when they came in? But the long walk back to John’s house and the humidity, still thick in the air even at night, sapped their energy and they were dragging their feet on those last few blocks.  
  
John’s bed looked wonderfully inviting as they entered his room, and they both sat on it with no real plan of how they would transition to sleeping.  
  
“Shit,” John said, “I am so fucking exhausted.” They had both been brought up not to swear and they both did so when their parents weren’t around, but John more than Jesse.  
  
“You’re not going to make me sleep on the floor, are you?” asked Jesse. John had a full size bed: easily big enough for two skinny boys. When they were kids they’d slept in it together unquestioningly, but any time Jesse stayed over for the past several years they fought over who got to sleep in the bed and who had to sleep on the floor. Sometimes Jesse took the floor and sometimes John did, and sometimes they just gave up fighting and slept in the bed together.  
  
“No,” said John. Tonight they were too tired for an argument. Tonight it made more sense to just skip to the inevitable.  
  
“Good,” said Jesse, kicking off his shoes. John did the same and removed his glasses as well, setting them on his bedside table. Then they both stood to strip off their shirts and jeans. John’s windows were wide open, but they tempted no breeze; the room was hot and stuffy. If either were alone, they’d sleep in just their boxers, so what was the point of suffering in extra layers of clothing? It wasn’t like they cared.  
  
Turning back to the bed, Jesse put one knee on it uncertainly. He couldn’t remember which side he was supposed to sleep on or how they were supposed to get in with the bed pushed into a corner like it was. John climbed on and knelt in the very center of the mattress, grinning stupidly. Jesse collapsed onto his left side, lying across the bottom of the bed, and started laughing, like maybe he was just going to stay like that, maybe that would be how they would divide up the bed, maybe. It was a low, dull laugh, and John joined him; everything seemed funny again, as it had when they first left the party.  
  
Jesse tried to sit up but couldn’t quite do it, so he threw his right hand out clumsily for support and pushed himself upright. It was only when he was sitting that he really noticed that his hand wasn’t on the mattress, but on John’s thigh.  
  
They stared at Jesse’s hand for a moment and then laughed more, harder than before, and Jesse was just so tired. It finally occurred to him to move his hand, and he did, onto the mattress right next to John, and since his arm was already in position he started to sort of crawl towards him, with hazy intentions of making it to one of the pillows that lay behind John at the head of the bed.  
  
But then he noticed that their faces were very close together, his and John’s, and he paused and sat up properly, and looked at his friend, and they were both still laughing – what an odd situation to be in; to have your face so close to your friend’s.  
  
John leaned in – less than an inch – and kissed Jesse, very quickly, on the lips.  
  
That _really_ set them off; John laughed so loudly that he threw his hand over his mouth in shock, his eyes wide, and they both remembered that they were supposed to be quiet because John’s family was sleeping, but knowing they had to stop laughing made it impossible, and they laughed so hard that Jesse’s stomach ached.  
  
And gosh wasn’t that funny, what John did, and Jesse thought it would be even funnier if he did it too, so he did, another kiss on the lips. Quick.  
  
John couldn’t contain himself with laughing; his head bent over and his forehead brushed against Jesse’s bare shoulder; this was by far the funniest thing either had ever done, and he righted his head and they kissed again.  
  
They broke apart but this time didn’t move as far away; this time they could still feel the other’s breath on their faces. It felt nice, John’s breath, and that was as far as Jesse’s thought process got before they were kissing again. He couldn’t remember who was kissing whom, but it wasn’t really pecks anymore. Jesse opened his mouth a little bit, and then a little bit more, and then he felt John’s tongue slide across his. Except for their mouths and Jesse’s knee brushing against John’s, they weren’t touching at all.  
  
He couldn’t say when, but eventually his hand drifted down to his boxers. At first it just rested there, and then he was rubbing himself through the thin fabric. And then he was pushing the waistband down and touching himself in earnest, which was normal, wasn’t it, because didn’t all sixteen-year-old boys jack off? And wasn’t alcohol supposed to make you horny? And it felt good, so really, what was the problem? Jesse couldn’t think of any, but he wasn’t trying very hard.  
  
As his breathing got heavy it became too difficult to continue kissing, so Jesse stopped; pulled his mouth away but leaned his forehead in, rested it against John’s. His eyes fluttered open and he saw that John was doing the same thing he was – but he’d already known that. And maybe he didn’t want to look at that anymore; maybe he didn’t want to see John’s hand working furiously over his length; maybe _that_ was why Jesse squeezed his eyes shut and crushed his mouth against John’s; pushed his tongue between his teeth. Yeah, that was probably it.  
  
John groaned softly and his muscles tensed, and just as Jesse registered why that was happening he came, too; shot off all over his hand.  
  
They pulled apart completely now, and Jesse couldn’t think of what to do, but John did: He got up and came back and shoved some tissues at Jesse. Jesse wiped up his cum and then noticed that a drop had landed on John’s sheets; he licked his finger and rubbed at it and hoped the other boy wouldn’t notice.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning Jesse woke up in John’s bed, alone. That wasn’t unusual. In the early years when Jesse slept over at John’s house it was an Event: whoever woke up first would pretend to still be asleep until the other awoke, and then they would go downstairs together and John’s mom would make them pancakes or waffles. But Jesse staying the night had long since become a common occurrence; sometimes John’s dad and sister didn’t even know beforehand; they would just see him there in the morning and say, “Oh, hi Jesse.”  
  
The first thing Jesse remembered was that he’d been drunk the night before; he was reminded of this by his pounding headache. Next he remembered what he and John had done, but only in passing.  
  
It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d seen John’s dick. When they were ten they’d decided to see who was bigger, but it only seemed fair that they made their judgments at their best, so they’d stood hip-to-hip, pants around their ankles, and rubbed themselves until they were hard and then compared (they were about the same at the time). And it wasn’t like they didn’t _talk_ about masturbating. They made jokes about it all the time. So what if they’d done it in front of each other? Neither had really even had their eyes open much.  
  
And the kissing, well, that was nothing. Kissing wasn’t a big deal at all. It was just lips, really. It could be anyone’s lips. It didn’t matter who was doing it; it didn’t mean anything.  
  
That’s what Jesse would’ve thought if he really thought about it, but he didn’t really, because his head was throbbing. He pulled on his T-shirt from the night before and then dug a pair of John’s sweatpants out of his drawer; it was only on his way downstairs that he remembered it was a Friday, so John’s mom was at work and his dad had office hours and his sister was off being a CIT at a Christian day camp, so it didn’t really matter if he walked around in his underwear.  
  
John was in the kitchen eating a breakfast of cereal; Jesse gave him a grunt of acknowledgment on entering and went to prepare a bowl for himself. When he sat down in the chair next to John, their legs bumped against each other’s.  
  
John twitched violently, pushing his chair a few inches away from Jesse and splashing milk out of his bowl. “What the hell?” he shouted.  
  
“What?” asked Jesse, confused – but not so much as not to know that he should be pissed.  
  
There was a pause and then John said in a sharp voice, “I’m not gay.”  
  
“Neither am I,” said Jesse quickly.  
  
“Then what –”  
  
“What? You were the one who –”  
  
“I didn’t!”  
  
“It doesn’t even –,” Jesse struggled. “It’s not… It doesn’t matter.”  
  
“It doesn’t,” John repeated. “It doesn’t mean…”  
  
“No,” Jesse agreed. “No, it doesn’t.”  
  
And that was it; they went back to eating their cereal and back to being best friends.


	7. Chapter 7

Months later Jesse was again staying over at John’s; again they were both in his bed. They’d stopped having fights about who slept where. Jesse woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t figure out what was happening. He listened for a moment; stayed still, tried to understand – and then he realized.  
  
“John,” he whispered, “are you jacking off?”  
  
“No,” mumbled John. “Fuck off. Go back to sleep.”  
  
“You are!” hissed Jesse, more sure of himself by the moment. Yes, that was _definitely_ what was happening; it was clear now. “You’re totally jacking off!”  
  
“No, I’m not,” whispered John harshly.  
  
“Yes you are!” said Jesse. He turned his head and saw the bump in the sheets where there shouldn’t be one, and he felt a thrill of excitement – because he was right; that was why; because he’d caught John doing something embarrassing.  
  
“No!’ said John roughly.  
  
“Yes!” said Jesse, and he kicked John a little, bouncing the mattress in his glee. “You’re jacking off!”  
  
“No!” repeated John. “No, I’m not! Fuck you! Leave me alone!”  
  
“You _are_ ,” said Jesse, and he shot his hand out over John’s crotch to prove it.  
  
They both froze, realizing what Jesse had done. The heel of his hand was pressed against John’s erection.  
  
Jesse’s cock twitched with a sudden surge of blood.  
  
He let out a slow, horrified breath and withdrew his hand. His fingertips brushed John’s hips. Jesse’s muscles felt like they'd all cramped up at once. It sounded like John wasn’t even breathing.  
  
“Fuck you,” muttered Jesse, for lack of anything better to say. He turned on his side and clutched the offending hand against his chest, like it was contaminated or broken.


	8. Chapter 8

One Friday night Jesse and John were alone at the Nolans’ house. John’s parents had just left for their date night – dinner and a movie – and Michelle was at a sleepover for a friend’s birthday. John and Jesse lounged on the couch in the living room, watching TV and fighting over the remote.  
  
“Wait, go back.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“I like that show!”  
  
“It’s fucking stupid. We’re not watching it.”  
  
“You’re stupid. Go back.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Come on.” Still seated, Jesse kicked John in the calf.  
  
“No!”  
  
“John!” Jesse lunged across John to snatch the remote out of his hand, but John was anticipating this; he lifted it above his head. Jesse managed to catch his wrist; he could’ve gotten the remote except John grabbed Jesse’s free arm, pinning it against his chest.  
  
“You asshole!” Jesse shouted, and they struggled. Jesse freed his arm but John shot his up, transferring the remote between hands, and dove sideways to keep it away from Jesse. The blue-eyed boy reached over him, stretching for the remote, but John’s long, gangly limbs were working in his favor. He jerked his hips suddenly, booting Jesse sideways and onto the floor. It didn’t hurt; John’s parents had a nice, thick carpet. Jesse laughed and threw his arm up, clawing at John, still on the couch; he grabbed his arm and pulled until John too fell to the floor, tangled on top of Jesse.  
  
They wrestled for several minutes, the remote getting slick with their sweat as it was gripped and yanked.  
  
John and Jesse were about the same height, but John was of a slighter build; not as strong. At last Jesse pinned him down, his legs straddling John’s hips, his hands holding John’s wrists above his head – but John was still holding the remote. They grinned at each other in their deadlock. Jesse knew if he lifted a hand for even a second he’d lose control; there had to be a way to make John drop the remote – and then he remembered the night they both got drunk the first time, _Wasn’t that a funny joke?_ – and he leaned down and kissed John.  
  
When he pulled up again John wasn’t laughing; he was just staring at Jesse. And Jesse didn’t really know what to do, or how to fix it, or how to explain, so he just did what he wanted to do most at that moment, which was lean down and kiss John again.  
  
And John kissed him back – really kissed him: hungry, needy. John’s hands relaxed and Jesse heard the remote fall to the floor with a soft thud, but he didn’t care about that anymore; he let go of John’s wrists, supporting his weight on his forearms now, and John’s arms snaked around Jesse’s neck, around his waist, touching his back —  
  
Jesse began to grind his hips against John’s; an instinct, really. He felt the bulge of John’s growing erection pressed against his own, and he kept going; it felt good, and John must’ve thought so too, because he lifted his hips off the floor to push himself against Jesse.  
  
They pulled apart briefly to take off shirts and unbutton pants, and then Jesse repositioned himself on top of John; like lovers this time, not wrestlers.  
  
Jesse had never kissed anyone’s chest before; never kissed an expanse of skin like that – it was different from kissing necks. John’s gentle fingers tangled in Jesse’s hair and he gave a tiny whimper as Jesse traced experimental patterns with the tip of his tongue. Jesse moved back up to kiss John’s mouth: two tongues now, not one, and after a moment John decided to press his thigh directly into Jesse’s crotch.  
  
“Oh!” Jesse exulted, breaking from John’s mouth, but John coaxed his lips back, and Jesse resumed grinding against him.  
  
Lying on his back, John’s hands were free, and he used them to push away the excess clothing: the jeans Jesse had hastily opened and his own corduroys. His hands resumed roaming Jesse’s body, moving slowly, achingly slowly. Jesse’s back, down beneath the waistband of his boxers, his hips, the spot where his thigh met his groin, the tuft of hair —  
  
Jesse moaned into John’s mouth, surprised at himself, and then bit John’s lower lip when John’s hand at last firmly grasped his cock, pulling it free of his boxers.  
  
Overwhelmed, Jesse stopped kissing John for a moment and stretched his neck; groaned. John had both of them in one hand, stroking them together. He pressed his mouth to Jesse’s; they’d reached a rhythm and everything was in synch – the movements of their hips and hands and tongues, and Jesse had never felt anything like this before.  
  
The smaller boy came first, his eyes squeezed shut; and then Jesse, his blue eyes fixed on John’s face as long as he could keep them open.  
  
For a long moment Jesse lay still on top of John, and then he rolled off and lied beside him, lifting his hips to pull his underwear and jeans back up around his waist.  
  
John stood up suddenly, gripping his pants to keep them on rather than finding the fly and button. He snatched his shirt from the floor and stormed off.  
  
Jesse stared after him, shocked, then finally came to his senses and scrambled to his feet. He remembered to take his shirt, but he didn’t put it on because he still had cum on his stomach.  
  
“John,” he called, his voice breaking. He followed the sound of John’s stomping feet up the stairs and into his room.  
  
“John,” he repeated. John was standing with his back to him, cleaning himself off. He put his shirt on before turning around to Jesse.  
  
“What?” he spat.  
  
“I –,” Jesse fumbled. “I don’t know.”  
  
“What do you want from me?”  
  
“I –” Jesse was still confused. He couldn’t see what John was fighting with him about.  
  
“My dad’s a pastor, Jesse.”  
  
Jesse furrowed his brow. “Yeah, I know,” he said defensively.  
  
“No, you don’t know! I would get kicked out of my house if they thought – and I’m _not_ –”  
  
“Well, I’m not either,” Jesse said huffily. “And my parents would freak out, too, so –”  
  
“Yeah, well, we weren’t in _your_ living room. _Anyone_ could’ve walked in –”  
  
“But they didn’t,” said Jesse. “They didn’t, so…”  
  
“No. Stop. Just _stop_. That’s it, okay, we can’t…” He sank onto his bed. “Just…can you just…can you just go?”  
  
Jesse looked down at his T-shirt; fiddled with it. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbled. It was his night to have the car; he could drive himself home. He put his shirt on, ignoring the fact that a stain would surely seep into the front, and turned to John’s bedroom door, grabbing his backpack from where he’d tossed it hours before. He paused in the doorway and twisted his head around – not enough to completely see John, but enough for John to see his profile. “Are we – are we still going out with the girls tomorrow night?”  
  
John sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”  
  
“Okay,” said Jesse, and he left.


	9. Chapter 9

Things changed after that, but in small ways. Not things you could see in daylight. Little things. They both had their licenses now, so Jesse stopped staying over as much because he didn’t have to feel bad about asking his or John’s parents for a ride home in the middle of the night; he could just drive himself. When they were watching a scary movie, John didn’t reach out to grab hands when the killer was in the mirror, which he’d always done before; with everyone, not just Jesse. And when they went on double dates, John constantly tried to upstage Jesse, even for really casual things; they’d always been a little competitive about girls but all that was intensified now. It was exhausting, really.  
  
Most of the changing happened in Jesse’s head. Now in bed when he reached under his boxers, he didn’t try to hide from himself the fact that he was thinking about John.  
  
It was strange but ultimately acceptable. After all, he lived on Long Island; not exactly Nowheresville, Middle America. He knew there were plenty of people out there who didn’t have a problem with two men having sex. He knew there would be no lynch mob if he stood up in the cafeteria and announced that he liked John _in that way_ (unless you could have a mob of just one person, because John would definitely try to lynch him if he did that). He knew his parents wouldn’t really kick him out, as John’s might, and they wouldn’t send him away to a straight-washing camp or forbid him from seeing any boys ever again – they’d be upset, sure, but they loved him no matter what, and Jesse was pretty certain that deep down they didn’t think liking a boy was the end of the world, either.  
  
Religion wasn’t as much of a factor as might be expected. Jesse’s disillusionment with his parents’ brand of Christianity had been a long time coming. The list of reasons was extensive, and his feelings for John were tacked on at the bottom; an afterthought: _And also I’m not completely straight_. And that disillusionment upset his parents, probably more than they would’ve been about John, but they became aware of Jesse’s eroding faith through subtle indicators, so there was never that moment of shock and anger (finding out your son no longer listens to Christian rock bands being much less provoking than, say, walking in on him humping his best friend).  
  
But some things didn’t change – couldn’t, Jesse thought at the time – like how he and John still stayed up late talking and made each other laugh until they couldn’t breathe, and how Jesse still believed in God even if it wasn’t the God John’s dad preached about. Liking John as more than a friend hurt, but not badly, because he had absolute conviction that John loved him more than he loved anyone, even if they didn’t touch. And Jesse wasn’t sure John didn’t _want_ to touch – he just needed time.  
  
Jesse was considerably more patient than people gave him credit for.


End file.
